A HAL KEEN MYSTERY STORY
THE LOST MINE
OF THE AMAZON
By
HUGH LLOYD
Author of
The Copperhead Trail Mystery
The Hermit of Gordon’s Creek
The Doom of Stark House, Etc.
_ILLUSTRATED BY_
BERT SALG
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS : : NEW YORK
Copyright, 1933, by
GROSSET & DUNLAP, Inc.
_All Rights Reserved_
_Printed in the United States of America_
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I A Riddle 1
II An Intruder 10
III Pizella, the Inscrutable 16
IV A Deck Chase 24
V A Story of the Past 28
VI A Familiar Follower 36
VII Hunches 41
VIII A Dutch Uncle 48
IX Exit Rene 56
X Safety? 63
XI A Vigil 70
XII For the “Cause” 77
XIII Alone and Waiting 85
XIV Rodriguez Has Company 91
XV A Day and a Night 96
XVI With the Morning 100
XVII A Guest of Savages 106
XVIII Convalescence 112
XIX A Prisoner 118
XX The Passing of Big Boy 126
XXI A Jungle Vision 131
XXII Felice and Hal 137
XXIII Some Talk 144
XXIV Old Marcellus 147
XXV After Dinner 152
XXVI A Familiar Voice 157
XXVII And Then 163
XXVIII He Who Risks Nothing 168
XXIX A Snooping Yankee 175
XXX Pale Death 180
XXXI A Decision 186
XXXII The Coronel Goncalves 190
XXXIII Renan! 197
XXXIV A Fear 202
XXXV A Phantom of Hope 206
XXXVI Adios! 210
THE LOST MINE
OF THE AMAZON
CHAPTER I
A RIDDLE
Hal lay rigid in his deck chair and watched from under half-closed lids.
The dapper little man came toward them soundlessly and approached Denis
Keen’s chair with all the slinking agility of a cat. Suddenly his hand
darted down toward the sleeping man’s pocket.
[Illustration: SUDDENLY THE MAN’S HAND DARTED DOWN TOWARD THE SLEEPING
MAN’S POCKET.]
Hal leaped up in a flash, grasping the little man’s pudgy wrist.
“What’s the idea, huh? Whose pocket do you think....”
Denis Keen awakened with a start.
“Hal—Señor Goncalves!” he interposed. “Why, what’s the fuss, eh?”
“Fuss enough,” said Hal angrily. “The fine Señor Goncalves has turned
pickpocket I guess. I saw him reaching down to your pocket and....”
“But you are mistaken,” protested the dapper Brazilian. His voice,
aggrieved and sullen, suddenly resumed its usual purr. “See, gentlemen?”
he said with a note of triumph.
Hal and his uncle followed the man’s fluttering hand and saw that he was
pointing toward a magazine thrust down between the canvas covering and
the woodwork of Denis Keen’s deck chair.
“I came to get that—to have something to read,” purred the Señor. He
turned to Hal with that same triumphant manner. “Being short of chairs,
I have shared this one with your uncle. This afternoon I have sat in it
and read the magazine. I leave it there at dinner and now I come to get
it—so?”
“Which is all true,” said Denis Keen, getting to his feet. “I’m terribly
sorry that my nephew put such a construction on your actions, Señor
Goncalves—terribly sorry. But he didn’t know about our sharing chairs
and that accounts for it.”
Hal’s smile was all contrition. He shrugged his broad shoulders and gave
the Brazilian a firm, hearty handclasp.
“My error, Goncalves. You see, I don’t know the arrangements on this
scow yet. I’ve been knocking around below decks ever since we left
_Para_—talking to the crew and all that sort of thing. It’s my first
experience in Amazon, South America.” He laughed. “I just came up a
little while ago and after snooping around found Unk asleep in that
chair so I just flopped into the vacant one next. Then you came
along—well, I’m sorry.”
Señor Goncalves moved off into the shadows of the upper deck, smiling
and content. The small echo of his purring goodnight lingered on the
breeze, bespeaking the good will with which he parted from his new-found
American friends.
Hal and his uncle had again settled themselves in the deck chairs and
for a long time after the Brazilian had gone they sat in silence. The
boat ploughed on through the softly swishing Amazon and there was no
other sound save the throbbing of the engines below.
“Well, Hal, ‘all’s well that ends well,’ eh?” said Denis Keen, stifling
a yawn. “I’m mighty glad that our dapper Señor took our apologies and
parted in a friendly spirit. It goes to prove how necessary it is for
you to curb that reckless reasoning of yours.”
Hal shifted his lanky legs and ran his fingers through a mass of curly
red hair. His freckled face was unusually grave as he turned to his
uncle.
“Gosh, you didn’t fall for that, did you?” he asked with not a little
surprise.
“Why not—you were in the wrong! As I said before—your recklessness,
Hal....”
“Unk, that wasn’t recklessness; that was just plain cautiousness. If you
had seen the way he came sliding and slinking toward you in the
darkness, you wouldn’t be so touched by the little tussle I gave him.
People don’t sneak around looking for mislaid magazines—they stamp
around and yell like the dickens. I know I do. Besides, he made no
attempt to take the magazine; his browned and nicely manicured hand shot
straight for your inner coat pocket and I don’t mean maybe.”
“Hal, you’re unjust—you’re....”
“Now, Unk,” Hal interposed. “I’m not that bad, honest. I know what I
saw, and believe me I’d rather think that he didn’t want to go for your
inner pocket. But he did! If he was so bent on getting the magazine and
if his feelings were ruffled to the point that he made out they were,
how is it he went off without it!”
“What?”
“Why, the magazine. There it is alongside of you, right where it was all
along.”
“So it is, Hal.” Denis Keen thrust his long fingers down between the
canvas and the woodwork and brought forth the disputed magazine. He
studied it for a moment, shaking his long, slim head.
“Well, do you still think it doesn’t look mighty funny, Unk?” Hal asked
in smiling triumph.
“Hal, my dear boy, there’s an element of doubt in everything—most
everything. You’ll learn that quickly enough if you follow in my
footsteps. And as for this particular incident—well, you must realize
that Señor Goncalves suffered insult at your hands. You admitted
yourself his feelings were ruffled. Well then, is it not perfectly
plausible that he could have forgotten the magazine because of his great
stress? I dare say that anyone would forget the object of his visit in
the face of that unjust accusation. Señor Goncalves was thinking only of
his wounded pride when he bid us goodnight.”
“Maybe,” said Hal with a contemptuous sniff, “and maybe not. Anyway,
I’ve got to hand it to you, Unk, for thinking the best of that little
Brazil-nut. You want to see things for yourself, huh? Well, I’ve got a
hunch you’ll see all you want of that bird.”
“What could he possibly know or want?”
“Listen, Unk,” Hal answered, lowering his voice instinctively, “the
Brazilian Government must have a few leaks in it the same as any other
government. They invited the U. S. to send you down here to coöperate
with them in hunting down the why and wherefore of this smuggling
firearms business, didn’t they? Well, what’s to stop a few outsiders
from finding out where and when you’re traveling?”
“Good logic, Hal,” Denis Keen smiled. “You think there must be informers
in the government here giving out a tip or two to the rebel men, eh? In
other words, you think that perhaps our dapper Señor Carlo Goncalves is
a rebel spy, eh?”
“Righto, Unk, old scout. And I think that Brazil-nut was trying to pick
your pocket—I do! Listen, Unk, have you any papers you wouldn’t care
about losing right now, huh?”
“One, and it’s my letter of introduction from Rio to the interventor
(he’s a sort of Governor, I believe) of _Manaos_. It’s a polite and
lengthy document, in code of course, asking his help in securing a
suitable retinue for our journey into the interior after that scamp
Renan.”
“_Renan!_” Hal breathed admiringly. “Gosh, Unk, that fellow’s name just
makes me want to meet him even if he is being hunted by two countries
for smuggling ammunition to Brazilian rebels.”
“He’s merely wanted in connection with the smuggling, Hal. Naturally he
takes no actual part in it. He merely exercises his gracious personality
in forcing unscrupulous American munitions manufacturers to enter into
his illegal plans. Renan is a soldier of fortune from what I can
understand. No one seems to know whether he’s English or American—it is
certain that he’s either one or the other. But everyone is agreed that
he’s a man of mystery.”
It was then that they became aware of a figure moving in the shadows
aft. Hal jumped from his chair and was after it in a flash. However, the
figure eluded him, and though he searched the deck and near saloon for a
full five minutes he returned without a clue.
“Not a soul anywhere, Unk,” he announced breathlessly, “I circled the
whole blame deck too. Didn’t even run into a sailor. Funny. Were we
talking very loud that time?”
“Not above a whisper. Hardly that. I dare say one would have had to come
right up to our chairs to catch a word. Regardless of your hunches, Hal,
I never take chances in talking—not anywhere.”
“I know—I just thought maybe ... say, Unk, is the Brazil-nut’s cabin the
fourth one from ours?”
“I believe so. Why?”
“Just that there wasn’t a light or anything. But then, maybe he went to
bed.”
“Even a Brazilian like Señor Goncalves has to go to bed, you know.”
Hal smiled good-naturedly at the playful thrust and shook back an errant
lock of hair from his forehead.
“Even so, Unk, my impression of him is that he goes to bed when other
people don’t. Don’t ask me why I think it. I couldn’t tell you. That
bird is a riddle to me.”
“And you’re going to solve him yourself, I suppose?”
“Me?” asked Hal. He laughed. “I’d like to, but, who knows?”
Who, indeed!